His eyes said �show me the job�
With both hands coming forward,
You�d expect seventy percent
He always gave one hundred.
His strength would bring a flood
Fired enthusiasm,
Add a bemused baseball cap
Crowning a ginger body.
His sparkling eyes could disarm
Or intimidate your day,
Magnetic island of strength
Taking you out of harms way.
His stocky appearance
Dressed to grace or to kill,
He was set like a Lord
Out in a crowd of Bouncers.
Organisations will feel
They have a cog missing,
The bridge and support gone
To closing a good book.
We�ll miss this dynamo
Bussing for a squadron,
A true Ipswich omnibus,
Ad astra � To the stars.
21st February, 2002 � Mike Meras
